Breathe
by TheSecretCity
Summary: My first casefic, done for the Fanfic Challenge Round 2. Prentiss is kidnapped.
1. With a Smile

_With a Smile_

_It had been a hell of a week, between tying up the last case and dealing with Strauss's latest breakdown. It had taken both her and JJ to calm the woman down, and Emily was fairly certain that Strauss was using some variety of uppers and downers that caused her to spaz out periodically. Usually at Hotch. What the woman's problem with their unit chief was, Emily had less desire to know then the interior contents of Jeffrey Dahlmer's mind._

_But it was over, thank God. Being an Ambassador's daughter had the advantage of learning diplomacy at an early age. And JJ seemed to breathe that stuff more naturally then oxygen._

_Emily was looking for her keys when she saw Hotch. He was standing by his car, keys out, staring into space._

_She debated for about two second before approaching him. "Hotch?"_

_He started. "Prentiss."_

"_Not to interrupt, but are you okay? Strauss really laid into you."_

_He snorted. "I know."_

_She fumbled for something. "Do you want to go out for a drink or something?"_

"_That would only lend validity to the rumor that we're, how did she put it, oh yes-screwing around behind the Bureau's back."_

_Emily backed off, hands out. Sometimes Hotch was as virulently tempered as the unsubs they dealt with daily._

"_Sorry, Hotch. And just so you know, JJ and I have her pretty well convinced that she doesn't have a clue about any perceived sexual relationship. So cool it."_

_She turned away before he could react. If he wanted to have a temper tantrum, so be it. She got into her car and drove off, thinking longingly of a beer from her fridge and a Strauss-free weekend. And a Hotch-free weekend. And a generally idiot-free weekend._

_Thank God for Fridays._

_As she searched for her key on her ring, she heard a scrape. Attuned, she looked around, but the lot was deserted._

_Long day. Long day locked in a room with Strauss, and too many Dean Koontz novels._

_When she heard the sound again, it was a second before a cloth descended across her face. She smelled the sticky scent of donut glaze, grabbed for whatever was at her mouth, and passed out._

_Author's Note: Sorry, I just had to kidnap Prentiss. And I really do believe Strauss is on some kind of meds without a doctor. No one can have that many mood swings, be in the Bureau, and NOT be addicted to things of a chemical nature. Reid's bout with Diluaded, anyone?_


	2. Most of the Time

Most of the Time

The team, gathered around the table in the war room, were missing Prentiss. They had a new case, of professional women in the DC-Virginia area who were kidnapped, then suffocated. And Prentiss, the most professional member they had, was missing.

Hotch had hoped he hadn't offended her that badly the other night, when she'd abruptly left him to his own after he'd snapped at her. Apparently he had, because she was nowhere to be found and didn't answer her cell.

JJ refused to meet his eye. "Shall we?"

Hotch nodded. JJ pressed a button and the victim's faces lit up the screen.

And Hotch caught his breath.

Each of these women, dark, lithe, tall women, looked like Prentiss. They had high-paying careers in government, and came from good, prominent families. Just like Prentiss.

JJ didn't even bother to start talking. They all saw it instantly.

"Don't they-" Reid began.

Hotch cut him off. "JJ, get set up with the detectives handling this. Reid, we need a geographic profile. Garcia, get everything on the victims. Morgan, I want you to check out the last dump site. Dave, you and I are going to Prentiss's."

"We all could be overreacting," Rossi cautioned.

Hotch looked back up at the screen. "We're not."

. . . . . . . . . . .

At Prentiss's apartment building, they found her handbag kicked under a stairwell in the parking garage. Rossi called for crime scene and cops.

Hotch stayed hunched over himself, looking at the handbag. It was leather, probably designer but not obnoxiously so. Prentiss was subtle. Prentiss was aware. Hell, how in God's name had Prentiss gotten jumped?

None of the neighbors had seen or heard anything. Rossi already had Garcia running the building's security footage.

"They're coming."

He looked up at Rossi's voice. "Dave, how the hell did she get jumped?"

"No one's perfect, Aaron. She was tired, it had been a long day after a long week, and she was probably only thinking about a nice glass of her choice of alcohol and bed. Just like we do. And the unsub took advantage of that."

"Will Strauss let us work this case with one of our own? Can you talk to her?" Rossi snorted. "Aaron, believe me, Erin Strauss won't interfere. I still have people under the 'I am Rossi, I am God' influence. She knows I could have her job in a heartbeat. And I'm going to talk to her shrink, too, about his prescriptions."

"Am I the only one who doesn't think Strauss is under the influence?"

"It's not think. Garcia pulled up what she gets from pharmacies. Valium, Ritalin, the works. I'm just biding my time."

Hotch shook his head. "Alright. We'll get the evidence and regroup at the BAU."

Rossi nodded.

Hotch's eyes went back to handbag. Wondering.

Prentiss, where the hell are you?


	3. Pray Like the Sun

Pray Like the Sun

Emily was careful as she regained her senses. She didn't move. She listened and smelled her surroundings.

Not a trace of dampness, or sound, or anything but an antiseptically clean place. Like a hospital, but far too silent.

She cracked her eyes open. There was some low lighting from a single bulb in the ceiling. She was on a bed. There was nothing else, even an air vent. Just a box with a trapdoor above her, and stagnant air.

Stagnant air.

She kept her breathing shallow and even. There had been kidnappings in the paper that were making her mother a little batty, about women being taken and killed by oxygen deprivation, literally suffocating on their own breath. She insisted Emily get some protection.

Obviously, her mother had been correct.

Having no idea how long she'd been under, she had to conserve her oxygen. There was only so much in this room. Any movement would cause her to use more then staying still. And under no circumstance could she have a panic attack. The more calm, quiet, and silent she was, the longer she would live until Hotch and the team found her.

She closed her eyes and did the only thing she could in the silence. She prayed, to God and Saint Jude, that the team hurried up and got her the hell out of this place. And that the pervert would open the door and give her a crack at him.


	4. Skies Turn Grey

Skies Turn Grey

Hotch was so immersed in the evidence he didn't hear JJ come in until she was standing in front of the makeshift desk at the police station and saying his name repeatedly.

After the third time he looked up, bleary eyed. It had been twelve hours since Prentiss had gone missing. True to his word, Rossi had called Strauss and knocked her nose into joint.

"Yes?" he said, after registering the who and what in front of him.

"The coroner worked out the timelines for the previous deaths," JJ set the files in front of him and kept talking. "The women all died of suffocation. Not strangulation, just lack of oxygen in the air. Like carbon monoxide poisoning. There was no sign of rape or even bruising from blows. No needle marks, negative on toxicology screens. No forensic traces. They get washed and redressed and left in Dumpsters. Sorry," she added.

Hotch shook his head. "He's saying they're not worthy of anything, not their positions or families or lives or good looks. Or even air. How long between abduction and death?"

"With the first victim it was hours, and one lasted two days."

"That makes sense. He has to have a sealed room to keep them in and keep new air out. The more they move, the more air they waste, the quicker they die."

"Hotch?" he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Hotch!"

He looked up at JJ's sharpness.

"Hotch, we're all working this case, okay? So don't think you're alone with this. We all want to find Emily."

"I know."

"That means you have to come out from under all this," she waved at the files and used burger wrappers. "You have to get off your butt and rejoin the living."

He had never heard JJ use the word 'butt' before. It wrung a small smile from him. "Okay. I'm coming."

She nodded. "Tip line's ready to be set up as soon as you all work out a profile." the phone on the desk rang, and Hotch picked it up.

"Hotchner."

Almost total silence for six seconds.

"Hello, Mister Hotchner," the computer generated sounds that formed the words crackled across the line. "Remember to say thank you."

"Excuse me?"

The line went dead.

"Hotch?"

He looked over at JJ. "See if anyone close to the victims got odd phone calls," he ordered, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.


	5. Let Go of the Time

Let Go of the Time

He hadn't come for her, and she had no idea if it had been hours or days since she had been put in the tiny room.

If she survived she would have severe claustrophobia, she decided.

The air hadn't begun to stifle her yet.

Hopefully, the team was working the case. Hotch would've gone to Rossi to get rid of Strauss, if she knew either of them at all.

She had heard the unsub once. He had bee listening at the trapdoor. She didn't move or make a sound. For all appearances she was catatonic.

And he had spoken, so softly she wasn't sure if it was to her, but once the sounds coalesced she knew it was.

Two words.

Breathe, bitch.

She began to translate that into every language she knew so she didn't have to think about the airless box she was in. Then she started on other phrases, so that she didn't move.

Moving was what he wanted. Sooner or later, he'd have to open that door to get it. If her muscles weren't too set up she could make a run for it. But there would be new air, at least.


	6. Falls Down

Fall's Down

Every other family had received some variation of the call as Hotch-'Be grateful', 'Remember to thank me'.

"He's a clean-up man," Morgan had simplified it. "He sees these women as something in the way, and cleans up."

"There's a definite type," Rossi added. "One woman like that ruined him, ran him over, and now he wants to get rid of anyone like her."

"So," JJ had added. "These women are repeats. Wouldn't that make the first victim the one he was after?"

"Phoebe Julian," Reid supplied.

Hotch nodded. "Call Garcia."

Morgan nodded. "Already done, man. She's cross-referencing everybody and has a tap on the phones. Anyone calls, she grabs their asses in a heartbeat."

Of course she would. She was Garcia, and the next-best thing to God the team had. And the phone rang.

"Pets, I have a person for you. Phoebe's fiancé. She wanted to pursue her career instead of settling down with kids, so she broke it off, according to her blog. That was a month ago."

"When the killings started," Rossi mumbled.

"His name is Patrick Thomas and the address is coming to your PDAs now. His house is outside the city off a little dirt track you all be careful and bring Emily home, capice?"

"Thanks Garcia. Let's go."

Hotch barely remembered his Kevlar.


	7. Let Go of the Fear

Let Go of the Fear

Emily had read about sensory-deprivation chambers as a way to meditate better, think clearer. The side effect, she was finding, was that you went a tad nuts doing zilch. But people probably hadn't tried a chamber with a serial killer waiting for you to suffocate, either.

She had no idea of the time, since her watch had been taken. But she could hear him scoffing above her.

"Aren't you dead yet, bitch?"

The vent leading up to the rest of the house was beside the bed. He was yelling into it.

"Aren't you dead yet, bitch?"

Just concentrate on breathing, on the air left in the room. She didn't even try to answer. That might take too much air.

"You'll die eventually. They all do."

Hotch would be coming. Hotch would pin the man to the floor. Morgan would kick down the door and let in cleaner, fresher air. It would be okay.

"All of them. All the other bitches like you. Choking on their air and then falling asleep. When they knew they'd die they screamed. It was so much nicer then you. Cold bitch."

If she wasn't trying to keep enough air, she could talk back, learn more, push him further until he snapped into her hands.

Wait and breathe. Wait and breathe.


	8. New York at Night

New York at Night

At Patrick Thomas's house all was still, except for Thomas himself. He appeared to be speaking into the vent in the kitchen wall.

Hotch and Rossi took the back door. Reid, JJ, and Morgan took the front. SWAT flanked both doors with the team.

"Go," Hotch ordered.

As Morgan kicked in the front door, he kicked in the back. "FBI!" Rossi shouted. "Hands up, Mr. Thomas! Now! Up!" Thomas obediently raised fingers the elegant ivory of piano keys. "May I help you?"

"Where is Emily Prentiss?" Hotch growled.

Thomas only wrinkled his eyebrows. "Whom?"

Hotch grabbed Thomas and slammed him up against the wall. "Agent. Emily. Prentiss. Who went missing from her apartment building's parking lot. Talk. Now."

His eyes darted. "I don't know any Emily Prentiss."

"Hotch," Rossi took Thomas and cuffed him. And looked in the same corner Thomas's eyes had darted to.

A door. A locked door.

Hotch kicked it open. "Prentiss!"

Even Rossi heard the gasp for air, back in the kitchen.

Hotch was down next to her. "Prentiss? Are you alright?"

She put her arms around him. "My weekend sucked."

Her hair smelled nice. Not lavender like Haley used, but lemon. "I'll make it up to you."

"I hope with a case of Heineken," she nuzzled his shirt. "Gimme a second."

"Like hell," he scooped and arm under her knees.

She giggled. "What about Strauss?"

Hotch shrugged. "The section chief really needs to get laid."

"You should get Dave on that."

"You know, I just might."


	9. Epilogue: The World Off Your Shoulders

Epilogue: The World Off Your Shoulders

Emily was released from the hospital the next day and went to her apartment. Hotch drove her back, mostly silent.

"You know," she said as they neared her home. "I owe you an apology."

"What for?" "How I acted about Strauss. I know it's serious, I just want you to know we're-that _I'm_ on your side."

"I know. I'm sorry, Emily."

"Why are you sorry?" It was an innocent question, and he answered honestly. "I yelled at you. And I don't want you to…"

"To what?" she encouraged softly.

He didn't remove his eyes from the road. "To end up hating me. Like Haley."

"Haley doesn't hate you."

"That's what it feels like, sometimes. Last weekend, I had plans to see Jack, take him to the park, throw some balls. But she had made plans, and they included Jack, so I couldn't see him. The thing with Strauss was just the icing on the cake."

"Piss on a shit cake."

"What?"

Emily shrugged. "Something a friend said, in college."

"Very apt. So I'm sorry for letting my personal life get to me at work."

"No."

"What?"

"No. Our lives and our work are intertwined. Next time you have a bad day, come see me. Or Garcia. But don't do the bottle it up thing. Nobody needs to talk you out of a well-earned shooting spree."

He actually smiled at her.

_Breathe, just breathe,_

_Take the world off your shoulders_

_And put it on me._-

BREATHE

FINIS

Author's Note: Here it is, in all its….stuff. My first casefic. Thanks to Tracia and Tonnie for setting up the Fanfic Challenge, and Katie for turning me onto them and the other forums, which I kind of didn't know existed. Y'all rock.

And if you read this and don't go to forums, please pray for Angel N Darkness, who was in a car accident this week and who we've all been keeping in our prayers, along with her family.


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